Good Things Won't Let You Wait
by Lucky Denver Mint
Summary: UPDATED! Dakarai AKA Ardeth is the captain of Pharaoh Seti's Medjai. Seti has purchased a new Harem girl from India and Dakarai has been put in charge of her confinement. It's never good to fall for the Pharaoh's favored concubine.
1. The Last Polka

Discalimer: Here is yet another story. Completely unrelated to the Lira/Ardeth saga. If you can call it a saga. At any rate, I do not own Ardeth, or in this case, Dakarai his previous incarnation. Chanda is mine however. So don't steal her. Not saying you would, but I like to cover my bases. Please R&R! I'm desperate. Desperate like a sweaty Irishman. Not sure where that came from, but I'm a quarter Irish so please don't beat me up for that. I know this is just the first chapter, but just give me some feedback, yo. From here on in, Egyptian is in regular font, Vedic is in Italics.

"_If you pull the same stunt here that you did in Damascus, I swear I'll…_" Bhagra warned, pointing his finger in the face of the costumed girl before him.

"_You'll what? There's not a threat on this earth that you could possibly hold over me_." Chanda returned in the cold, calculating voice she reserved for just such occasions.

"_I'll sell you off to the first slave trader I see. You have never been able to keep a civil tongue in your mouth_." Bhagra was steaming. This was a crucial engagement, and all the girls were ready. All except Chanda.

"_Then you should be thankful I don't speak their language. Besides, you won't sell me. You can't. I'm the best dancer you've yet managed to kidnap_." She glared at him defiantly. Five years since being taken from her home and she was no more resigned to her fate than she had been the first night tied to three other girls in the belly of a merchant ship. Bhagra growled to himself, the sound rumbling in his oversized belly.

"_Listen, this is a very important engagement for me. The musicians are ready. The other dancers are ready. Please don't ruin this for me_." Bhagra said with tense politeness. Chanda narrowed her almond shaped eyes.

"_Why should I help you_?" she asked, "_What's in it for me_?" Bhagra was at his wits end. He needed her. She had the most experience. She'd been 20 when his men had abducted her, the oldest of any of the girls. He'd shouted at them for hours over it. Then he saw her dance. She was the star, the main attraction, and he had to keep her happy. She'd nearly escaped several times.

"_What if I offered you a share of the profits_?" he muttered. Chanda wasn't sure whether to believe him.

"_How much_?"

"_One percent_." He said stiffly. Chanda huffed.

"_Ten_"

"_Two_"

"_Ten_"

"_Three_"

"_Ten_"

"_You don't know how to haggle_." Bhagra was about to throttle her.

"_You don't know when you're beat_." She knew he couldn't do anything to her. At least not for the next couple days, as long as they were in Thebes. Bhagra ran a hand over his balding head. He sighed.

"_Fine_" he growled, "But you've got to stop trying to run away."

"_Agreed_" she said, and for the first time in five years he was relaxed, "_No more attempts. I won't pick another lock unless I know I can get away_."

* * *

Rameses I had finally been laid to rest. There had been much grieving in the kingdom, but tonight there was to be a splendid party at the palace. Seti I was the new ruler of Egypt, and for this there would be much celebration. As a captain, Dakarai was given the night off and commanded to attend the event. The banquet table was loud and slightly disorganized. The best food and wine was being served, and it was rumored that some dancers from the distant east were being brought in. Seti sat in his raised throne at the head of the table, smiling and observing the conversation. Several other Medjai officers were in attendance, including the chief of the city, Baruti. Dakarai sat straight and observed this all with passive interest. 

When a short robust man with darker skin than any seen in Egypt, the room quieted. One of King Seti's servants whispered in his ear and the pharaoh motioned for the short man to come forward. The room was suddenly silent, and Dakarai was almost convinced they could hear him chewing, so he stopped, the food still in his mouth.

"Honored guests," boomed the voice of the pharaoh in the silent hall, "Allow me to introduce Bhagra. He travels to us from the Indus territories with his fine dancers."

"Yes, your highness," she pudgy man bowed, "I come before you with the finest dancers of all India. I do hope they please your majesty." Seti nodded at the imposed flattery, and waved his hand.

"Bring them in." he said dully, and Bhagra bowed, motioning to some brightly dressed women holding bizarre instruments. As the music started, everyone glanced around. Sitar music was, after all, unfamiliar to them. But as the first of the dancers came out they were silent and dared not for a moment to look away.

The woman was slightly older than most dancers to visit the court of the king, but she moved with a fluid grace that captured the attention of the audience. The girls who followed, singing soft, haunting music in a language very few of them could understand, were barely noticed. Chanda was clearly the highlight of the performance. The dance itself was unusual, sensual, and exotic. Her clothing was a shimmering pale purple, she wore long intricate golden earrings, several golden bracelets, a golden armband, and silver dancing bells on her ankles and around her exposed belly. They made a soft, melodic chime that kept with the music on each step. Aside from the bright, colored outfits, the race of these women was by far the most astounding. They were each of them darker than their Egyptian hosts but lighter than the darker African tribes, some of which were present. Their hair was black as jet and meticulously straight. The woman who came out first had her hair in a braid that flowed around her as she danced.

Seti himself was clearly captivated. She continued to step and sway to the music, her body nimble and dynamic. Her hands and arms flowed as though on waves and even her wide almond eyes seemed to dance with her. This was indeed a special treat. One that only a powerful and wealthy pharaoh could afford. Finally, the song ended, the dancing girl on her knees surrounded by her peers. Dakarai was astounded. He stared at the woman intently, and for a moment their eyes met but all too soon she glanced away. Then he realized the lump of half chewed food was still in his mouth. It was now soggy and devoid of flavor, but he made the effort to choke it down.

She was beautiful. It was all he could say on the matter. Her skin was lovely, dark, and smooth. Her body was lean and toned, curving dangerously in all the right places, and her hair was long and black as night. Her eyes were of the hue of honey, her eyelashes dark and long. His eyes traced her high cheek bones, her full lips, and the straight line of her nose. The iridescent pale purple contrasted her perfectly, and her gold jewelry was elegant and flattering. Finally, as the pharaoh began to clap and the guests to follow, Dakarai tore his eyes away and looked around the table, clapping absently in time. As the pharaoh instructed the owner of the dancers to pull up a chair and speak with him, the dancers began again. Dakarai tried to busy himself with his food with little avail. Without his knowledge or consent his eyes would drift to the beautiful dancer from the east, and his food was largely abandoned.

Bhagra noted that the pharaoh took great interest in Chanda, and he hoped she would not ruin this the way she had done in Damascus. There was a smile playing on the pharaoh's lips and Bhagra sighed, hoping it would last the evening. He was a little surprised when the pharaoh spoke to him.

"What is her name?" Seti asked. Bhagra started a little before answering.

"She's just a girl I picked up a few years back. Her name is Chanda, but that should be of little consequence to your greatness." Bhagra shrugged. Seti nodded absently.

"It seems to be that it would be a great misfortune if you lost her." Seti mused, "This little group is worth nowhere near as much as I am paying without her."

"As long as your majesty finds that she is worth the generous price you are paying, I am satisfied." Bhagra said, not particularly comfortable with the direction the conversation was heading.

"I am more than pleased with her performance." Seti assured, "But I must ask what it would take for you to part with so valuable a commodity." Bhagra was speechless for a moment.

"Your majesty, I'm not sure what to say. She is indispensable to me at this point. You have so many fine dancers in your kingdom, and she would be the only Indian dancer, I'm afraid it would serve you little."

"You mistake me, my man. I am not looking for a dancer so much as a member of my harem." Seti laughed. Bhagra turned pale.

"Your majesty she is no harem girl. She does nothing but dance, you know that from our arrangement."

"Yes, but I am taken with this one. She is exotic. The way she dances I know she would be valuable to me. Do not worry, I am not afraid to break in a novice."

"You mistake me. I am trying to protect her. To my knowledge she has never been with a man. To sell her into a harem would be unconscionable to me."

"Her fate is out of your hands, thief. You took her from her home I can just as easily take her from you. You would be wise to accept my offer." Seti was growing ever more serious, and Bhagra was beginning to sweat. He didn't much desire setting off a king.

"I must warn you, your majesty, before you make so hasty a purchase. You must realize she speaks only Vedic, not a word of Eyptian. She is uncontrollable. She has nearly escaped me many times. She is a masterful picklock." Bhagra insisted. It was a last ditch effort to dissuade the pharaoh, both for her sake and his own. Seti regarded him.

"Language matters not, and if anyone can keep her in line, the Medjai can. Name your price, Bhagra, what is she worth to you?"

A/N: I'm not giving up on my other story, I just had this idea and, well, here it is. Hasn't been beta'd. Maybe it will be later. And as far as timelines and history go, things aren't going to be strictly accurate. The movies weren't either so cut me a little slack here. This is my world. Anyway, please review and let me know what you think.


	2. Best Imitation of Myself

Disclaimer: I do not own Ardeth (Dakarai) or Evy (Nefertiri). I own Chanda, though. So there.

Chanda knew something was up. The performance had gone exceedingly well, and she'd not said a single word, not that anyone there would have understood it. Still, Bhagra seemed unusually distracted. Chanda was more than a little affronted that he'd not bothered to either thank her for not causing a scene or congratulate her on a successful performance. Actually, it had been better than successful, it was her best performance in a very long time. She was sitting in a tent in the palace courtyard removing the jewelry and scrubbing clean her made up face, and Bhagra was pacing outside. Chanda tried to concentrate on the rustle of the breeze through the canvas to no avail. The prevailing noise was that of her pudgy master's shuffling footsteps. Back and forth. Back and forth. Chanda threw down the last of her bracelets and stormed out of the tent.

"_Stop it!_" she hissed. Bhagra was little more than surprised, "_You're driving me mad. Either tell someone, preferably not myself, what's wrong, or go to bed_." Bhagra gazed at her in stunned silence before shaking his head.

"_Chanda, leave me be, I can't deal with you right now_." He grumbled, returning to his fevered pacing.

"_Well, that's some gratitude_." Chanda scolded, crossing her arms, "_I give a brilliant performance, at your request I might add, and you treat me this way. Ten percent isn't worth this kind of ingratitude_."

"_Then run away, Chanda_." Bhagra replied, stopping in his tracks and looking her in the eye, something he rarely dared to do, "_Run far away. Run to the north. Get as far away as possible_." Chanda raised one eyebrow and her muscles tensed.

"_What are you up to?_" she asked quietly. Bhagra diverted his gaze and recommenced his pacing. Chanda huffed noisily and rolled her eyes. "_I can't believe you. Scaring me like that. You know I think I did rather well tonight, Bhagra, and I behaved myself_." She was the only girl who called him Bhagra, and she was the only one who dared.

"_You were amazing Chanda_," Bhagra said sincerely, "_And for all my blustering I almost wish you hadn't been there at all._"

"_How's that for gratitude?_"

"_You don't know what you're talking about, girl_." Bhagra had begun playing with the earring in his right ear, twisting it around and around as he only did when he was nervous. Chanda, who was now sitting on the ground nea rhte entrance to the tent grew tense once more.

" _What is going on, Bhagra_?" she asked, "_You're dancing on my last nerve. I have a right to know what it is that I've done that's got you in such a condition_."

"_So that you may repeat it, I suppose_." Bhagra chuckled.

"_Stop stalling, and tell me_."

"_Alright_." He hissed, spinning on one heal to face her. "_Alright_." he said more calmly. The short, pudgy man let out a sigh and lowered himself to the ground in front of her.

"_Now, what have I done wrong this time?_" Chanda asked, leaning back on the tent post and crossing her arms, "_What is so grave that you wish me to run away?_"

"_I thought you wanted to run_."

"_Bhagra_." She warned.

"_OK. OK. You have done nothing, my dear girl. That was the finest performance I've seen in a long time from you_."

"_I had proper motivation_." Let him assume that she was referring to the money and not the handsome soldier at Seti's table.

"_Yes, well, perhaps it was too much motivation_." He sighed, "_Seti liked the performance_."

"_I'm not following. I thought that was a good thing_."

"_He liked it a little too well._" Bhagra replied, pinching the bridge of his nose with his stubby little fingers. "_We have to get you away from here, tonight. You have to go as far as you can. I will disguise Indrani, she is as tall as you, has the same color eyes. We are foreign to the sight of these Egyptians, and Seti was drinking heavily. If we keep a veil on her, Seti will not notice the difference_." Bhagra had taken his hand from his face, and his eyes were grave. A chill ran through Chanda. She knew what he meant now, and she tried not to believe it.

"_I don't understand_." She lied.

"_Of course you do. You are a beautiful creature, and this was bound to happen eventually. He offers a handsome sum_."

"_So why do you tell me? Why do you not take it_?"

"_You know very well I cannot. For as much grief as you give me, I am your guardian. You may not prefer this life, but it is far more honorable than the fate which awaits you. It is the same fate that awaited you then, chosen by the Maharaja of Andhara to be one of his consorts. I cannot consign you tot eh fate I initially delivered you from_."

"_Stop making yourself the hero_."

"_Stop being so difficult_."

"_At least I would have stayed in the land of my birth_."

"_You know the character of the Maharaja as well as anyone from Andhara. I suspect even this Seti is a preferable alternative to him. Still, I cannot allow you to be disgraced so_."

"_What would you have me do? Die in the desert?_"

"_That is your choice now, Chanda._" Bhagra replied, getting to his feet. "_I will acquire some heavy robes of the native people. Should you choose to flee, you know where to find me_." Bhagra turned and walked away, disappearing behind one of the tents that housed three of the other girls. Chanda sat for a moment in silence. She could get angry at Bhagra: first, for abducting her from her homeland and second, for bringing her before this foreign king. There was nothing for it, though. She knew her options, and she knew what she had to do. Chanda stood with a sigh and went inside her tent. She had a relatively plush lifestyle for a slave. She wondered for how long she'd be on the run.

* * *

Seti's court was bustling the next morning. The party was a smashing success, and word had got out that Seti had selected a fifth for his harem. Of course as a prince he'd had available consorts, though his harem had been ostentatiously empty until the death of his wife during childbirth. She'd given him a strong son, and a lovely daughter. There was very little more any man could ask, but he had loved her. So he now kept a harem, and until he chose a wife, Nefertiri was the closest Egypt would have to a queen. And everyone loved her. 

Seti waited patiently in his throne, consulting with his most trusted advisor. Imhotep was a shrewd and intelligent individual. His charisma and apparent ability to make eerily accurate predictions had ensured his place at pharaoh's side. Nefertiri never much liked or trusted the priest, but there was little she could say about the matter. Plans would soon commence for the construction of Seti's pyramid, and Imhotep would be the chief spiritual advisor to the royal architect. It was a monumental job. The very fate of the pharaoh's soul rested in the preparations made for the afterlife. Besides, Nefertiri decided, just how horrible could the priest be?

Bhagra's palms were sweating, and he feared perhaps his brow was, too. Indrani was wearing the regular dancing regalia, but her head and face were covered by a translucent, iridescent pale pink veil. She was younger than Chanda, and lacked the muscle tone, but as for height and hair length they were about the same. Bhagra was sure the pharaoh would never know the difference. Still, he was visibly nervous. But, as the great doors to the throne room were opened for him, he knew there was no turning back. He'd coached Indrani all night, teaching her to walk like Chanda, to carry the same rebellious attitude, and most importantly, to answer to "Chanda."

Pharaoh was pleased to see the short chubby man arrive with the exotic dancing girl by his side. He'd been almost afraid the man would try to slip away during the night, thinking he could escape the Pharaoh's soldiers. It would have been unwise to try such a stunt, but the Pharaoh suspected this shrewd man would do just about anything to guard his primary source of income. Seti smiled as the two approached the throne and kneeled before him. The girl's face was hidden, but this only enticed him. She was the rare, the exotic, something wild and untamed. It was his right as ruler to posses all the rare fruits of the earth, and she was the rarest he'd seen.

"Your majesty." The pudgy man spoke. His Egyptian was horrid, Seti hadn't really noticed at the party, but he'd been drinking for some time when the dancers arrived, "I bring you the finest jewel of India."

"Ah yes, Chanda," Seti said, standing and walking forward. He approached the two and Bhagra's pace quickened, "How could I forget such a beautiful name?" Seti reached down and took the girls chin in his gently fingers, raising her to her feet. Bhagra's heart nearly stopped. "I thank you for bringing her to me, I know she is valuable to you."

"Yes sir," Bhagra barely managed. His head was beginning to swim. His skin was hot and cold at once. He felt sick.

"It is because of this, your sacrafice that I am willing to give you twice what we discussed last night. I never like to inconvenience a businessman." Seti smiled at the girl as he talked to her master. Bhagra's head snapped up. Seti hadn't noticed. At least, not yet. If he followed the traditions of most kings, she would be stolen away into the harem and cleaned up, prepared according tot he local style and custom. It may be days before the king set eyes on her again and by then, Chanda would be far away.

"My king, your first offer was far too generous, but this…"

"Nonesense," Seti said, beckoning Bhagra to his feet, "In return I ask only that you provide this girl her wardrobe and jewelry. I would prefer her to be authentic. She will be the only one of her kind, and she will not wear the same costume of the other women."

"That's easy enough, your highness, but the clothes and jewelry are worth nowhere near…"

"That is the end of it, Bhagra. You will go now and gather her things. Dakarai," the soldier was standing by the door, watching all this with great scrutiny, "escort this girl to my harem. See too it that she gets cleaned up." Dakarai came forward at pharaoh's command, a little surprised at what he was witnessing. Had the pharaoh purchased the dancing girl from last night? Not that Dakarai could personally blame him, but Seti was not known for these kinds of rash, impulsive actions. Dakarai bowed to the pharaoh and turned to the costumed woman in the veil. Suddenly, he was confused.

"Pharaoh, if I may?" he said, tilting his head a little. It was hard to see through the veil, and she was the right height, but he was almost sure he was correct.

"Yes, Dakarai? What is it?" Pharaoh said, perplexed. Dakarai was a good soldier, and he rarely spoke up. It was then that Nefertiri saw the heavy Indian man clutch his left arm.

"This is not the dancing girl from your majesty's celebration last night."

It was then that Bhagra's knees gave way and he collapsed onto the polished limestone of Seti's throne room, and there was nothing the court healers could do.

A/N: This took awhile, but I had to go read Nakhti's "Harem Nights." I think I can safely assure everyone that this story will not be taking the same route. Great story by the way (see, don't feel bad, now **I'm** plugging you) especially if you're like me and you like longer stories instead of the half-assed ones where everyone's gotten laid by the end of chapter 2. I admire those who build their characters. Thank you so very much to Shorty McGee (I may take you up on that offer if I write something I think might be a boo-boo), Pirate Gyrl, FawkesFire, Karita, Nakhti, and BrokenAngel1753.


	3. Golden Slumber

Disclaimer: I steal a lot of things. Dakarai (Ardeth), Nefertiri (Evy), and my chapter titles come to you care of Chris Isaak. But Chanda is mine, so HA! Now in Technicolor!

Seti was understandably angry, but rarely had his Medjai seen him so enraged. The pharaoh was not shouting, cursing, or throwing things about. It would have been almost comforting if he had. Instead, thunderclouds billowed behind his eyes and he spoke in low tones and short, terse sentences. Dakarai almost wished he'd not said a word. It's possible Seti would have never known the difference. Until she was asked to dance, of course, but Dakarai suspected that this was not what the pharaoh had in mind when purchasing her. The thought made something foreign and fiery rise up in his stomach. Jealousy? Of course, as it seemed Dakarai was able to pick this girl's face out separately from her peers, he was placed in command of the chariots that would seek the woman out.

Nefertiri sat silent and horrified in the gold gilded chair next to her father's throne. The Indian man's eyes were still open, staring up at the beautifully arched, vaulted ceilings. She was not accustomed to the sight of death, and she could hardly catch her breath for shock. The rage emanating from Seti was perhaps even more unnerving. As his daughter, she'd never seen him in battle, or even after, as Rameses had. She looked around the room for a friendly face, someone, anyone who could deliver her away. Her handmaidens were not present; they'd likely run out when the man had fallen to the ground. Finally, she saw Hamadi crossing the room towards the throne stand. Relief flooded her and her heart leapt to her throat. He always had a knack for showing up just in time. Hamadi bowed deeply on one knee and Seti, who'd just sent Dakarai and the other Medjai out of the room, acknowledged him.

"Your majesty, if it is your wish I could escort the princess to her chambers. I think the present circumstances are perhaps stressful for her highness." Hamadi offered. It was always best to make it sound like one's suggestions was what pharaoh already had in mind.

"Yes, Hamadi, take Nefertiri and see to it that she gets rest," he nodded. He then looked around the room and frowned deeper, "And try to track down those hand servants. Tell them they are not to leave her side ever again." Hamadi bowed his head deeply.

"Yes, your majesty." He confirmed before averting his gaze to Nefertiri. Eyes like the Blue Nile. They never failed to catch her off guard, but she stood and followed the armed man out of the throne room, careful to stay as far away from the body as she could. She felt for the poor man. It was clear he helped the dancing girl escape, and she knew what a sacrifice it must have been. She could only hope her father would be gentle with the foreign woman once she was captured. And she would be captured. Nefertiri knew Dakarai well enough to know she'd see the Indian woman again.

* * *

The dancing girl had been careful leaving the city, but not nearly careful enough. Dakarai started searching the streets of Thebes, and it wasn't long before Dakarai's men found an old man in a positive uproar about his prized camel being taken. After calming the gentleman down, they were finally able to gather some information. The fence rails had been lifted out of their cradles, and a clear set of camel tracks lead out of the city and into the desert. She'd not followed an established trade route, so the prints stood out in drastic relief. Dakarai led the three chariots and ten horsemen out of Thebes. She had several hours on them, but she and the camel would have to rest. The pharaoh's horses were champions. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.

* * *

Chanda was, by now, leading the obstinate camel through the sand. She'd veered away from the trading route that ran along the Nile, hoping not to be seen. If all were going to plan back in Thebes, it would be days before Seti knew she was gone. In the meantime, she was fighting her mount for every foot of ground. She'd seen camels in her travels and knew they could be ridden, but the bouncing gate had given her nothing but a sore bottom and a backache. She was thoroughly upset that she'd not been able to find a horse that was somewhat accessible. Not that she could do much about it now. So, she continued to tug on the lead as she trudged forward on a terrain that allowed little in the way of traction. Finally, Chanda was tired. 

"_That's it_." the camel only blinked as she tossed the lead rope across it's back, "_No more of this. You can wander back to your master now. Go on_." And on that note, Chanda trudged off into the desert, already gaining significantly more ground. She was glad to be rid of the stubborn creature, and still angry that she faced the rest of the journey on foot. The heat she could handle, but the shifting sand was exhausting. So it was that, half an hour later, she was angrily tackling a steep sand dune. With every sliding step she grew angrier and angrier. She was climbing on all fours, digging her feet into the sand and clawing desperately to gain a foot only to slide back six inches. She could feel the grains of sand, hot and irritating, filling her shoes. Finally, she made a futile punch at the sand and turned around to sit down and rest. She was breathing heavily, but more from frustration than anything. It wasn't an impossible feat, just deeply irritating. Her head was hanging low, her arms resting on her knees. Then, as she brought her head up, she saw something wholly unexpected.

"_What are you doing here?_" she asked as the large doe eyes of the camel she thought she'd left behind stared back at her. The animal stepped closer and made to nudge her. She pushed its face back, "_Ugh! Go away. Leave me alone_." Still, the animal persisted, and Chanda finally stood up shakily on the steep embankment. "_What? What do you want_?" In response, the camel bent its long legs and curled them under its body, allowing her aboard. Back in Thebes she'd had to climb onto the old man's fence to get atop the beast. Chanda stared a moment and the quadruped pushed it's head forward on its long neck and nudged at her ankles. "_Alright, alright_." she sighed, walking over and seating herself in the saddle she'd luckily been able to figure out in the dead of night. The animal rose swiftly on its legs and Chanda held her breath. But, instead of the hurried bouncing trot she'd experienced earlier, the camel slowly began walking up the dune, unperturbed by the shifting sand.

As noon brought the sun to its zenith, Chanda began to feel the heat beat persistently down upon them. Things had been much easier before the sun had risen, and she knew the cold of night would be far more intolerable to her than the heat of the day. She decided it was time to camp and sleep. It was not unheard of for travelers to die of cold on long desert nights, and she knew that she, being from a warm climate, was particularly susceptible to this. So, Chanda pulled on the camel's reins and began trying to figure out how to dismount from such height. Much to her surprise, as she began to rise out of the saddle and tried to bring her foot over the camel's back, it lowered itself down once more. However, the jarring motion as the animal's knees unbuckled sent Chanda sprawling down onto the sand long before the camel lowered itself completely. Chanda lay there for a moment, struggling for every breath. Finally she rolled over onto her stomach and lifted herself onto shaking arms and legs.

"_You do that again_," she said breathlessly, "_And I'll make a tent out of you_." Finally she rose to her feet and looked around at the spot she'd picked. They were in the cradle of a crescent shaped dune. They were on the eastern side of the dune, so as the sun set, the shade would grow. Already, just an hour or so past noon, there was enough to cover them both if they hugged the very base of the dune. The camel now had all four legs tucked under its expansive body and was clearly beginning to nod off. Chanda found a nice space not far away. She dug into the side of the dune. In India, if you dug far enough, you could reach that cool, moist sand that was so nourishing for the local farms, but she wondered if such soil could be found in such a harsh landscape. Finally, she found some sand that was slightly cooler and she tucked herself into the den she'd created in the side of the dune. Before long, her eyes closed and her exhausted body was still.

* * *

Dakarai and his men had crested a far dune and spotted the woman atop the camel. As his men made to charge, Dakarai held up a hand to stop them. Just past noon the desert was sweltering, and he knew she would stop soon to sleep. No sooner had he explained this to his men then the woman stopped her camel. Dakarai watched she clumsily made to dismount and fell off when the animal obliged her by bowing on its front legs. It was honestly all he could do not to laugh, but he maintained the stern visage his fellow soldiers were accustomed to. So they waited and watched as Chanda dug herself a bed. Finally, a few minutes later it seemed she might be asleep. Cautiously the men moved forward, dipping into a valley and losing sight of her. It was then that Dakarai ordered the chariots to stay put. He took the horsemen and crested the next hill. As they came to the top, they could see her below, sleeping in the crescent of a neighboring dune. Dakarai signaled the men to move quietly, and slowly they rode down the dune, their horses half walking, half sliding down. Neither the woman nor the animal stirred as they approached. Dakarai motioned his men to circle them, and Dakarai dismounted. Slowly, he moved forward, keeping an eye on the camel. 

Just as Dakarai approached the sleeping form wrapped in heavy tan linen robes, the sleeping camel awoke with a startled grunt. The woman shot upright and turned to face him. The camel was pulling itself to its feet while trying to wheel around and run, and Dakarai's eyes met those of the dancing girl close up. He could see panic and fear shining back at him and he regretted what he knew he had to do. For a moment she was still, arms poised out slightly from her body. In a flash she spun around, the long thick braid whapping Dakarai in the face. She made for the side of the dune, trying to make her way up. Of course she made it no more than a foot or two up when strong arms wrapped around her torso and plucked her off the sandy slope as though she weighed no more than an insect. This didn't keep Chanda from wriggling and kicking and waving for all she was worth. Dakarai was immensely grateful he couldn't understand a thing she was screaming out. He was a palace guard, not some thug enforcer. He could fight a man honorably and without hesitation, but chasing down and arresting some woman who's only crime was trying to avoid a life of veritable servitude didn't sit well with him. Orders were orders, though, and the woman calmed down slightly as he half carried, half dragged her to his horse.

Chanda was understandably surprised and upset. She thought she'd had a chance, that Indrani would be able to fool the pharaoh, but they had obviously underestimated him. As the soldier carried her toward his horse, she soon realized her struggling was futile. Although he wasn't hurting her, he held her as though her fighting was barely perceptible. Not surprising, for as fit as she may have been, she was not particularly strong or fast. She was sneaky, and her many near escapes were a result of her skill as a picklock and her ability to move with unprecedented stealth, not any kind of brute force. So, as the Egyptian swung her up into the saddle and settled in behind her, she said not a word. Instead she stewed inside, angry with Bhagra and angry with herself. When they crested a dune and came down into a valley, three chariots awaited them. It seemed overkill to her, for a king to send three chariots and eleven riders after one lone woman. Then again, Seti could no doubt afford such auspicious transport. It was here that she was lowered from the horse and another soldier approached her grabbing her roughly by the arm and dragging her toward one of the chariots.

"Abasi!" shouted the man who had captured her, and she and the soldier both turned around, "You will loosen your grip. She belongs to the pharaoh and I will not be held responsible for any harm that comes to her on your account." Chanda did not understand what he said, but the sound of his voice mesmerized her. Finally she recognized him. He was the soldier from the banquet, one of many who had not been able to take their eyes away. But his looks had been different, and even know as he upbraided that soldier who'd been so rough with her his eyes were warm and almost sad as they caught hers. The guard, Abasi she assumed, huffed and turned away, now leading her off with a little more care. Chanda followed but kept her head turned, staring at the man on the horse who'd been sent to seal her fate.

A/N: sorry this took so long. Nakhti, LOVE the comment, that cracked me up. "Those pesky Medjai." That sounds like a great title for a story, too, you should think about that. Because of course I expect you to continue writing when and if "Harem Nights" ends. And if you need help, I'd be more than happy to brain storm with ya. Also, many thanks to BrokenAngel1753, Alex413, and hikaru motosuwa. Much love ya'll. Please R&R, it makes me oh so happy.


	4. Still Fighting It

Disclaimer: Yaaarrrrhhhh! generic pirate noises Avast ye mateys, Ardeth Bay, Rick O'Connel, and Evy O'Connel are the property of Universal Studios, yarr, I'm just... borrowing them. But all you landlubbers should know that Chanda is mine, yaarrr.

...OK, I know, that was SO random.

Chanda was noticeably silent as she was led through the palace halls with a guard holding each of her arms. The handsome warrior walked before them and when he took a left toward two large, elegantly gilded doors she brought her chin up. She wasn't going to let the pharaoh humiliate her. Not that she'd be able to understand the scornful words that were sure to come, but she refused to give him any sense that he was intimidating her. Yes, she'd been caught, but as she saw it, it was all just a temporary setback. She'd picked some of the most difficult locks devised. She had her doubts this king possessed anything out of her sphere. Then again, she realized, these soldiers of his would just track her down again.

Seti's throne room was largely empty after the events of that morning. Imhotep was the only person who remained at pharaoh's side. He'd had all day now to calm himself, and, as Dakarai entered, Seti showed little concern for the dancing girl being brought in. In fact, he left Dakarai and the Medjai standing for several minutes while he discussed the construction of a new temple with his most trusted priest. His guards stood patiently, awaiting their turn. Still Dakarai couldn't help but feel a little resentment for the state Seti had been in over this woman only to brush them aside once she was brought before him. Finally, Imhotep was finished, and he bowed graciously before stepping down and heading for the door. As he passed, he smiled at the Indian girl with a certain knowing smugness, but she ignored the gesture and maintained her steely gaze on the throne before her.

"Dakarai," Seti finally addressed, "I am pleased to see you have retrieved my little runaway. I trust it was not too much trouble for you."

"No, your majesty, it was no trouble. Your horses are swift and your men are strong. The girl stole a camel from one of your subjects. We were able to return the animal." Dakarai explained. The two men holding Chanda brought her forward. Seti smiled for the first time that day.

"You are trouble, little one," he said. Chanda stared. A sardonic smile pulled at her lips. "I know you don't understand a word of this, and it is perhaps your ignorance that saves you from a harsh punishment." Seti continued, walking forward and finally standing before her, "You will learn in time that your fate is not as horrible as you may think, and you no doubt know now that my Medjai are the finest soldiers any king could ask for. If you try to run, they will find you before you leave the palace grounds. For now, you will go to the harem, and tomorrow I shall decide what, if any, punishment befits you." Chanda continued to stare with piercing golden hued brown eyes. Seti reached out and ran a finger along her smooth jaw line. Still no motion. "Dakarai," he said, "take her away."

With a bow, Dakarai turned and headed back for the door, and Chanda's two escorts drug her around to follow. She could only assume that the general unpleasantness was behind her, and so she allowed herself to relax as she was led out of the throne room and into the hallway. She was more than a little irritated at the manner in which her to escorts held her arms, but she ignored it as best she could and knew that by morning she'd have some fine bruises. In the meantime, she couldn't really help but enjoy the view. The hallway was the finest limestone available, polished to perfection. The great pillars that supported the massive structure were stained black with gold accents. There were statues of gods and goddesses wholly unfamiliar to her, and lush ferns and palms in large, beautiful stone pots. For a moment she just listened as the leather sandals of the guards clicked against the stone floors and echoed with a harmony that sounded at once natural and intentional.

As they turned right and passed by a statue of a man with a falcon's head, she saw a set of stairs up ahead. At the top of the stairs she could see a hallway leading to the left and great, large balcony windows framed by flowing white curtains. They climbed the stairs and passed down the hallway, and as a breeze came in she looked outside to see the Nile down below. There was sound and life and vibrancy still despite the rapidly setting sun. She could see great monuments and temples she'd not seen in the dead of night. Then again, she'd not been in the mood for sightseeing at the time. They continued on and passed several elegantly crafted wooden doors. She could see two golden doors at the end of the hallway, an immense sun carved into them in stark relief. There was an elaborate pinion latch the held them closed and two guards stood outside them. This, she realized, was pharaoh Seti's harem. Despite all her fortitude, her heart sank until it hit the pit of her stomach like a lead weight.

As her steps began to slow and grow more reluctant, the hands on her arms gripped more firmly, pulling her forward. She'd not gotten along with the other dancing girls Bhagra had employed, and she had no reason to believe things here would be different. Aside from the fact that her sarcasm would have little effect on them. The nearer they came to those foreboding doors, the slower her steps became. One of the guards looked at her, a stern gaze that warned of bitter consequences should she continue to be difficult, but her feet no longer obeyed her orders. Her will to be strong and face this like a woman had dissolved, and just ten feet away from the door, her feet stopped, though the men continued to drag her. Her knees gave way and she fell limply forward, trying desperately to pull her arms away. She was sliding across the polished stone floor on the tops of her feet. Still their grip tightened and she let loose an involuntary, surprised cry.

The guard leading them spun around. He saw her struggling against the guards and his deep voice resonated in the halls as he spoke to them. Before she knew, they'd let go of her arms and she stayed there on the floor, face in her hands. She had nowhere to go, there was no sense in running. She knew she had to pass through those doors, but her legs simply would not allow it. Then, Chanda was startled by the feel of a hand on her head. Pulling her hands away and looking up she saw the deep brown eyes of the palace guard, the man for whom she'd really been dancing the night before. There was nothing he could tell her, nothing she would understand. Instead, he took her hands gently and helped her to her feet. Shaking, Chanda stood, never once taking her eyes off the man in front of her.

The cry had taken Dakarai off guard. He had turned to see the Medjai dragging the Indian girl by her arms. She had been so calm and so strong that her sudden breakdown took him completely by surprise.

"Heru! Badru! Let go of the girl!" his voice thundered, and though he barely outranked them, they knew better than to argue. Dakarai was a fair man, but he commanded respect and obedience from his subordinates. He knelt before the woman and placed hand on her coal black hair. With a start her head shot up, and he saw in an instant brown eyes wide and consumed by fear. There were no tears, as he'd assumed there'd be, but the anxiety was clearly written on her face. Once again he was awestruck by her beauty. Her skin, darker than his own, was impeccably smooth and flawless. Her features were strongly feminine, here eyes large and expressive. The long black braid of her hair fell over her shoulder, desperately knotted and disheveled by this point. Her hands with their long graceful fingers steadied her as she kneeled on the floor. His heart ached for her, for the fear she felt and the life she faced, and he hurt more in knowing there was nothing he could do for this woman.

Dakarai took her hands from the floor and slowly helped her to her feet. "Little one" he spoke softly, "I know you do not understand me, but you know what fate lies within for you. There is no escape, so your only options are to face this with strength and dignity or wallow in sorrow and self-pity. This is a fine home, and you will be well taken care of." His only hope was that a soothing voice might calm her. After all, even if they did speak the same language her trauma might have kept her from registering a single word. It was the tone that mattered, and slowly Dakrai took a step backward toward the door. To his relief, she followed suit, never taking her eyes from his. Though her gaze unnerved him, he continued, and behind him he heard the door being unlatched and opened. With great effort the doors opened and Dakarai took her to the threshold before letting go of her hands.

Finally, Chanda was forced to divert her gaze, and what she saw astounded her. Beyond those golden doors lay a common room so vast it confounded her senses. Twenty feet above her was a vaulted ceiling and a massive open skylight that illuminated the whole of the central common room. Surrounding this were multiple doors. At the back of the room was a massive spiral staircase that led to a second level of doors that encircled the great open common room. There must have been a dozen individual suites in all. In the center of the room was a great circular pool surrounded by the black stone pillars which supported the ceiling. The water glistened with orange iridescence. Interspersed throughout the room were several couches on which lay the most beautiful and decorated women in all Egypt. Suddenly, in spite of the opulence, Chanda's heart fell. Was this to be her life, wasting away the day in idleness until called upon by her master?

"Mistresses," Dakarai addressed them, "this is Chanda, your master's newest acquisition. I would greatly appreciate if you could get her cleaned up and show her to her chambers." One of the tall, elegant creatures stood from the couch on which she'd been laying and came forward. She was lean, almost athletic in build, and her fine black headdress bore beads of the finest gold. She wore a blue dyed sheer linen dress that swept the floor as she walked and intricate gold earrings that brushed her shoulders. Her face was fair, an aristocratic air to it, and her eyes were lined in black. Chanda stood silently as the woman stopped in front of her, a look of appraisal on her face.

"She's certainly interesting," the woman said, raising a critical eyebrow.

"Enough, Amunet, it is his majesty's decision who enters this harem, not yours."

"Dakarai, you pompous buffoon, I was merely commenting. Where is she from, anyway? Certainly she can't be Egyptian." Amunet asserted, and even without understanding a word of it, Chanda recognized it as a slur.

"She's a dancing girl from India. She was brought here to entertain the pharaoh and his guests at the coronation. She doesn't speak a word of Egyptian, so all your yelling and fussing won't do a bit of good. I expect you to have her presentable by tomorrow. She is to be brought before the pharaoh." he said, turning and stepping away from the door. Amunet was more than surprised.

"During the day? Whatever for?" They were never called from the harem before sundown except for those festivals and banquets when they would be expected to entertain dignitaries. Dakarai turned and the guards began to push the doors shut.

"Her former master helped her to escape and tried to put another girl in her place. She faces judgment for her part in the scheme." Dakarai said, the opening growing smaller and smaller until his form disappeared altogether. Amunet smiled wryly and looked at the Indian woman before her.

"Well, well," she commented, "Aren't you an interesting creature?"

A/N: Woohoo! New chapter. And the last one apparently was less than stellar as there were 32 hits and only 2 reviews. First, many thanks to Rachel Sparrow and hikaru motosuwa for taking the time to review. Ya'll ROCK. As for the rest of you, shame shame. C'mon, if even an EIGHTH of the people who read it had reviewed I'd be happy. I feed off comments, whether good or bad, so if you thought it was weak, tell me why, just say something. Observe your right to voice your opinion. Rock the vote! OK, that was lame, but still, honestly folks, I beg of you to drop me a line, 2 words, anything. I'm on my knees here. Even my regulars haven't chimed in in awhile. I feel abandoned. And for those of you waiting for "Those Who Dream By Day" I have the next chapter done, I'm just waiting for it to get beta'd. I'm beginning to think my beta has lost all computer access, so if anyone out there wants to read the nice juicy last chapter of "Those Who Dream By Day" before anyone and give me some feedback on the style, grammar, spelling, etc. then drop me a line.


	5. Mess

**Disclaimer:** OK, so I've been a bad, bad little writer. I know, I know, it's been… forever. A whole lot of stuff has gone on in my life and, long story short, I recently ended a three-year long relationship. I was unhappy for a long time, got obsessed with reading (during which time I discovered the "Outlander" series by Diana Gabaldon, if you haven't read them DO IT. It is impossible not to adore the main male character) and kept trying to fix things that couldn't be fixed and realized I wasn't the same person, and the change wasn't for the better so the relationship finally ended. And now I'm getting back into the swing of things, writing again, but I've still got plenty going on so don't expect an update like every night or even every few nights. But I'm working on it, and my muses are slowly coming back, dancing happy little jigs in my brain, so hang in there, loves. You know the spiel. Ardeth, Evy, and Rick are not mine. I'll never pretend that they are, but I can dream. Chanda is my own creation, though, so keep your hands off.

* * *

Chanda was now alone in a room quiet as a crypt. Ten pairs of eyes were set upon her with ferocious curiosity. The woman who'd approached her at the door still stood there, looming over her like a thunder cloud. Her smug, sophisticated air was nearly unbearable. Chanda had gotten in all-out brawls with Bhagra's other dancers for lesser insults. This was not her realm, however. She'd been left entirely out of her element. She could only be thankful that they'd never be able to understand any of her snide, sarcastic remarks. That alone would avoid much of the trouble she'd gotten into during her lifetime. On the other hand, she'd give anything to understand the things they would say to, or about, her.

Amunet appraised the woman before her with a critical eye. She failed to see what had been so extraordinary as to pique Seti's interest. This Chanda girl had an impudent set to her shoulders and a prideful gleam in her golden eyes. Her hair was obscenely long and one could only guess as to her physique under all those dusty robes. Amunet mused, rather uncharitably, that she'd never be able to contain her delight should she find that the girl was a bit too full figured or perhaps covered in scars. How could the fool make such a hasty purchase without inspecting the goods? And surely he couldn't have done so with her wearing such androgynous garb.

Amunet snapped orders to Hasina and Mosi to take the woman off to the baths. The moment of tense silence broke in the room and everyone came to life. Hasina and Mosi got rapidly to their feet and hustled a reluctant Chanda into an adjoining room. The bath was a stunning structure, taking up most of the room with a glorious cobalt blue tile floor. Chanda was stripped of her robes in a daze and lead to the edge of the massive bath. Steps led down into water that came up to just under Chanda's breasts which she kept hidden behind her crossed arms. When the two women who had escorted her moved toward her in order to help her bathe, Chanda ducked and moved back. When they moved to follow her she began scolding them in a stream of sharp, incomprehensible words.

"Leave her," Amunet commanded from the entrance, "Let her bathe herself." Hasina and Mosi shrugged at one another and left the washing cloth and soap on the edge of the bath as they stepped out, entirely unconcerned with their own nakedness. Chanda was used to have much of her flesh visible when in costume, but even so she could hardly imagine herself moving with such confidence and self-possession with not a stitch on. Slowly, she moved to the rim of the pool and took up the linen and soap to commence her ablutions. While the cleansing took little time, her hair took a great deal of effort. Finally, Chanda finished and stayed in the bath, her knees bent to keep the water covering her up to her neck, looking around for something with which to cover and dry herself. The robes she had worn were dirty and sweaty, but she had no desire to wander about in the altogether.

Just as she had resigned herself to her only option, Amunet pushed the curtain aside and looked in, obviously put out that she was taking so long. Upon spotting Chanda she quickly deduced the problem, rolling her eyes and disappearing for a moment to return with a plain white linen dressing robe. Chanda hesitated only a moment before making for the stairs, wringing out her hair as she went. She took the robe and wrapped it snugly around herself, all the while aware of the consort's scrutinizing gaze. Tying off the sash, Chanda set her shoulders and raised her chin, meeting the Egyptian's eyes. The two women stared one another down for a moment before a sort of grudging acceptance appeared on Amunet's countenence.

"Well," she said, knowing full well she was talking to herself, "You're not the mutt I thought you might be, and you're a brave thing if nothing else. But we'll need to work on your temperament. Pharaoh will not tolerate any insubordinate behavior." That said, Amunet stepped to the side, motioning Chanda back into the main sitting room with the rest of the women. While the gathered consorts all seemed on the surface to be preoccupied in their own doings, it became clear that they were all awaiting Chanda when every head turned at once in her direction. Without a hitch in her step, Chanda walked into the room and sat herself on a low couch near the shallow pool in the center of the room. The last pink glow of daylight floated down through the skylight and Chanda couldn't wait to be shown to a bed. She'd escaped in the middle of the night before and had now been awake for far too long.

"Chanda," Amunet addressed as she stepped in front of the Indian woman, commanding her attention. "Chanda," she repeated, pointing at the woman in question. "Amunet" she said now pointing at herself. Chanda did not repeat her, but gave a barely perceptible nod, and so Amunet continued. "Mosi" she said pointing to one of the women who had tried to help Chanda bathe, "Hasina" pointing to the other. So it went on with the seven other girls. Bahiti, Edjo, Uadjit, Sanura, Nabirye, Nephthys, and Jendayi were introduced in turn, Chanda showed her understanding, but did not deign to reply.

"Doesn't say much, does she?" Edjo pointed out. She was an unusually tall, lithe woman with eyes tilted slightly much like a cat's.

"Can't expect her to, she just got here, and she doesn't speak Egyptian." Jendayi pointed out in her soft lilting voice form behind one of the black pillars. She was a delicate girl, the youngest in the harem, with brown, curling hair and expressive olive green eyes. Jendayi was a foreigner as well, traded from Mycenae, and was clearly sympathizing with the new consort.

"It's no matter," Amunet concluded, "We will need to get started on her early in the morning. She is to meet the Pharaoh to receive judgement for attempted escape. So, it would be best that we see to her quarters for now. Bahiti, Uadjit, go ready one of the spare chambers. Sanura, Nephthys, unpack her belongings, they're by the doors. Nabirye, grab the shears, we may as well cut her hair tonight, we'll need to have her presentable and there's no way we're fitting all that hair under a wig." The women went to their tasks without question and only hushed complaint. Amunet took Chanda by the arm to lift her to her feet and Chanda tugged her arm away. Amunet only raised a painted eyebrow before signaling the stubborn creature toward a table littered with cosmetics, combs, and bottles of scented oil. Chanda stood and made her way over to a chair placed before the table where Nabirye waited.

* * *

Bahiti and Uadjit were roused from their task suddenly by an angry shout followed by a string of angry gibberish and a sudden, frightening shriek that rang against the marble pillars. The two women glanced at one another just as the linen they'd had stretched between them settled gracefully onto the pallet. They were out the door in moments and headed for the stairs, trying at intervals to peer over the rail and between the pillars to see what was the matter. Sanura and Nephthys were so startled by the voracity and proximity of the commotion that they dropped the pair of jewelry boxes they'd been holding and the lids flew open scattering gold bangles and dancing bells and earrings across the floor. All the women converged on the epicenter of the disturbance to witness Amunet holding a screaming, thrashing, shear-weilding Chanda. Nearby they saw Nabirye grasping at her left arm, blood dripping from the tips of her fingers onto her fine white robes while she sobbed and rambled in a manner almost as incomprehensible as the foreign tongue Chanda spouted.

Edjo stepped forward quickly, taking Nabirye off toward the bathing chamber to settle her down and see to her wound. Chanda had lost interest in Nabirye and was shouting at Amunet as the two women wrestled for possession of the shears. A heartbeat later, the great double doors slammed open and Dakarai stepped in accompanied by the eunich guards who normally stood outside the chamber. Amunet and Chanda froze as they stared at the imposing countenance of the Medjai before them. Chanda, however, came to her senses before Amunet and yanked the shears away with a triumphant noise and threw them into the corner of the room.

"What goes on here?" Dakarai demanded, his deep, rough voice rolling through the room. Getting the gist of the statement regardless of her ignorance of the language, Chanda began on a tirade, pointing toward Amunet and then the bathing chamber and grabbing her own hair in display. The only bits of information anyone caught were the names "Amunet" and "Nabirye." The latter chose that moment to step into the room, a strip of linen bandaged around her upper arm. Chanda quieted for a moment and Amunet and Nabirye took the chance to air their grievances, simultaneously and at volume. Dakarai closed his eyes and held his hands up to beg silence. When that failed to work he bellowed for quiet and the chamber was still.

"Enough," Dakarai scolded, "I will bring you before the pharaoh, tonight. He won't be pleased being bothered this late, so you'd best get civil tongues in your heads. Baal, find out where they're keeping the other dancing girls who were with Chanda and see if any of them speaks Egyptian." Dakarai rested his gaze on the furious Indian woman, her chin was raised defiantly, her nostrils flaring as she breathed. He sighed inwardly. He didn't wish to contemplate what fate awaited the beautiful, spirited girl.

* * *

A/N: So, the saga continues. Hope you enjoy. Many, many, MANY thanks to Nakhti, Rachel Sparrow, daydreamer505, raerain, hikaru motosuwa, RaevenMoon, bdpotato, Larien Telrunya, Orphelia-Rose, CAPTAIN Matey Sparrow, YueMichiruNaragisawaMiko, faeriesinger, MemoryStillHauntsMe, Laureloth, soul, Cookie2004, and albinocuriosity. 


	6. Selfless, Cold, and Composed

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the "Mummy" characters. Though I suppose it doesn't matter so much since I'm really only utilizing the collective images everyone has of them for a different purpose with different characters. So I guess I should say that I am not employing (or in any way associated with, DANG the luck) Oded Fehr, Rachel Weisz, Brendan Fraser, etc… Yes, I know it's been awhile, had a busy summer. Slow updates are better than no updates. Oh, and chapter titles got changed. I was having a tough time with Chris Isaak song titles so I moved on to Ben Folds.

* * *

"Sir" Baal addressed, returning to the harem, "None of the girls speak Egyptian, but –" he continued before his captain could go on a tirade, "one of them does speak Mycenaean." Dakarai considered for a moment. Double-translation was always problematic, enough got lost between two languages, never mind three, but seeing the wound on Nabirye's arm and the defiant, indignant fury in the foreigner's face he knew the new concubine would need all the help she could get. Dakarai gave a curt nod, barely paying any attention to the dark, gawky teenage girl Baal had brought along, and motioned for Chanda to come to his side. Her hands were clenched in fists, her chin raised and her amber eyes unwavering.

She stepped forward, ignoring the women around her and their stares, some hateful, others baffled. She flinched slightly as her bare foot came down on one of the earrings which now littered the floor, but didn't stop until she was inches from the foreboding guard. She stared up at him, all bravado on the outside, but a trembling mess of fear, frustration, and confusion on the inside. The dark-haired wall of leather and bronze stepped aside a fraction, motioning with his opposite hand for her to go ahead of him out the door. His face was stern, but not unkind and so she allowed her gaze to leave his face only to fix it straight ahead.

"Amunet, Nabirye, you'll follow behind. Baal, bring the other Indian girl. Kafele," Dakarai addressed the remaining eunuch, "stay here, I will send for another to replace Baal." Kafele nodded and Dakarai exited the room, fuming, with Amunet and Nabirye silently bringing up the rear. Tear tracks ran down the latter's face, making Dakarai wince. Everything was stacked against the dancer. A concubine was, above all, a performer, and Dakarai had witnessed Nabirye's theatrics any number of times. She'd nearly taken the head off of a statue of Bastet with a stone ewer not two weeks ago when Mosi mistakenly wore one of her gowns to entertain Seti.

Still, the recent concubine walked steadily down the hall, back rigidly straight, and setting a fair pace. It crossed his mind to wonder why he was so concerned with the fate of a stranger, but filed the thought away for a more opportune time. Pharaoh's receiving chamber was ahead on the left and Dakarai had more critical thoughts to concern himself with. He hoped the king's economic advisor, who spoke Mycenaean, was still there. If he had to be sent for, and Nabirye got her say first, Seti might not wait for Msrah. Soon enough, Chanda stopped before the massive chamber doors and Dakarai ordered the soldiers to open them.

Msrah, a thin, aged man boasting considerable hight and a calm, elegant air stood dutifully at Seti's side. Dakarai sighed, that was one disaster averted. Seti, however, looked eminently displeased and so Dakarai bowed deeper and more formally than he might have otherwise.

"Dakarai, why do you bring this women here. You've been ordered to see that she was settled in." Seti said firmly. Dakarai remained prostrate.

"Yes, my highness, but there has been a problem, an altercation between your new… acquisition and one of your consorts." Dakarai explained to the tile floor, "Due to the risk of danger each woman seems to pose to the other I did not think your judgement could wait for morning."

"Oh?" Seti sounded, if nothing else, at least interested. Dakarai finally raised his head, still bent over and on one knee. Seti motioned, distractedly, for his soldier to stand, his attention focused on Chanda. "What seems to be the problem?" It was Nabirye who chimed in first.

"My master, your highness," she began, her voice soft and smooth in supplication, "I have served you gladly for my two years as your companion. You have been wise and fair in all things and I ask you now to discard this mad woman. She has physically assaulted me. Normally, I am not one to complain, my lord, but she used a pair of shears and she has drawn blood. You see?" Nabirye's eyes were open wide, pleading, as she draw away the strip of cloth to reveal a long, but shallow, cut across her upper arm. Dakarai realized now how skilled an actress she was. She knew better than to rant and rave as she had done in the harem. His eyes narrowed at her imperceptibly.

"Hmm," Seti murmured, his brow furrowed, clearly sympathetic to his young concubine's pain. His head turned, regarding Chanda. "It's a shame she's no means of speaking for herself."

"Your highness," Dakarai said softly, "If I may?" Seti nodded. "The young woman next to Baal is one of the girls brought here with Chanda. She doesn't speak Egyptian, but she speaks Mycenaean." Dakarai said, shifting his gaze to Msrah at the end. Pharaoh and advisor regarded one another and without need for commands, Msrah nodded and descended the steps of the platform to stand closer to the girl. Greeting the young woman, she couldn't have been more than seventeen, Msrah inclined his head and seemed to ask her a question. Wide-eyed, she stuttered a moment before replying.

"The young woman's name," Msrah relayed in his slow, measured speech, "is Sitara. She says she will translate as best she may." The post-thin old man turned back to the girl and spoke. She seemed to consider for a moment, absorbing it all, before turning to Chanda shyly and speaking to her in their odd, lyrical tongue. Chanda didn't look at the girl but instead stared at the pharaoh as Sitara spoke briefly. There was a moment of silence before the calm inevitably broke in the face of the storm. Chanda was shouting at the king, pointing fanatically at Nabirye, and alternately tugging at her long raven hair. Dakarai winced. Sitara looked startled and finally began frantically relaying the tirade to Msrah in Mycenaean, pausing often to think and listen. Msrah, to his credit, kept much of his composure, relaying the message in a firm, controlled tone that carried well in spite of the racket Chanda made.

"The young woman claims that Nabirye attacked her first, grabbing her hair and threatening to cut it off. Seeing a wig on the table she realized what was going on and defended herself accordingly. It is not customary, in her country, to cut off one's hair and she took it as a personal affront. She says she only grabbed her hair away from Nabirye's grasp, but when the woman slapped her hand and grabbed hold of her hair once again she snatched the shears away and the rest is, well, the rest." Msrah said. By now, Chanda had quieted but she was huffing in anger, her hands trembling slightly. The pharaoh regarded the scene a moment, elbow propped on the arm of his chair, his chin resting in his palm. Dakarai, who'd been unwittingly holding his own breath, exhaled slowly.

"While I agree that the young Indian girl cannot be trusted in the harem," Seti began, and Dakarai realized his eyes had a purely enraptured glow to them, "I am more unwilling now to part form her. While the intentions of my mistresses were good, I must insist that this woman remain as she is. One would not seek to relieve a lion of its mane and so I shall not bear to alter what is exotic and unique. I realize some punishment should be set forth, but I do not want to discourage this behavior. I want her fire, her defiance, it is… refreshing to me. As a compromise, she shall be kept in a solitary room. She will not see her friends. She will not have contact with anyone save her guards, the occasional servant, and myself. She is not permitted to learn our language, though the other women, who are now without ownership, will be encouraged to do so."

Nabirye was clearly outraged, but kept her mouth shut. Amunet, laid a consoling hand on the consort's shoulder and shout a venomous glare toward Chanda. The latter ignored it. Msrah was relating this decision to Sitara who was in turn relaying it to Chanda. Still the Indian woman stared vehemently at her new master. Dakarai was unaccountably relieved. Seti signaled their dismissal and all but Msrah turned toward the door. Dakarai, however, got but a few steps before being called back. He bowed before Seti.

"Dakarai," the king began as the company filed out of the room, "You have served me well this day. I was not pleased to have this interruption, but I see why it was important. I have an offer for you, a slight promotion, in fact." Dakarai looked up abruptly to his smiling king.

"Your highness, I cannot convey my honor," Dakarai said, and he meant it. While he did not lust after rank, service to the throne was in his blood. His heart beat increased, proud and energized by the praise of his sovereign.

"You are a captain now, I see, and so you shall remain, but Captain First Class. You shall keep the majority of your current duties, but in addition you shall be in charge of five Second Class captains and as a personal service I expect you to take charge of Chanda's confinement." Seti intoned, Dakarai's heart lurched a beat. Confinement? "You will personally select and schedule the rotation of the eunuch guards to her room. I want minimal contact between her and any of our women. She must remain… untouched. Authentic." Seti was now gazing somewhat dreamily out a far window that overlooked the blessed Nile. Dakarai swallowed hard.

"Yes, your highness."

* * *

A/N: This was a bit shorter, but it was a good place to end. If I had tried to tack on what's written after this the chapter would have turned into a beast all its own. Many MANY thanks, and prostrate apologies, to MemoryStillHauntsMe, albinocuriosity, Rachel Sparrow, and Faeriely odd. Particularly you should all thank albinocuriosity for PMing me and guilting me into getting my arse in gear. You'll make a terrific mother one day if you aren't already :P 


End file.
